While You Were Out
by Dentelle-noir
Summary: AU. Romance. 3x4. Decorating for a moving reality design show doesn’t leave much time to get to know people. But more goes on behind the scenes than what the cameras catch.
1. Chapter 1

**While You Were Out**

By: DentelleNoir

**Summary**: AU. Romance. 3x4. One shot in two parts. Decorating for a moving reality-design show doesn't leave much time to get to know people. But more goes on behind the scenes than what the cameras catch.

**Warnings:** Fluff, one or two hard curses, the terminology of one who watches WAY too many designing shows, Jason bashing (if you don't know who I mean, then it won't really matter), and the use of the 'While You Were Out' Show. This began as a one shot and sort of morphed into two parts, but I still call it a One Shot because I just broke it up to make it less daunting to read.

* * *

**While You Were Out**

**Part One**

There was an absolute flurry of movement from all sides, but Quatre, smiling angelically for the camera, ran inside the room to place the plum vase and arrange the vines inside to complement the tab curtains he had searched through half the city for. The camera panned out to show the carpenter putting hammer to nail by the fireplace in a last minute effort to finish before the reveal. Why the public liked him so much, Quatre never knew. Sure he was definably hot, but off camera he was a quality grade-A asshole. But, smiling brightly again, Quatre waited for his cue and stood in place to help heave the picture onto the less-than stable mantle with Jason flanking his other side. The shot moved to the host outside, stating they had ten minutes while fifteen staff members ran in to the room to set up what was left so that when the camera panned back there was Quatre, amidst the finished room, daintily straightening one of the pictures and polishing his nails on his shirt.

The homeowner was back and wired up with the microphone. Quatre, the designer, flanked by the two carpenters and Evan (the host) were all standing ready to surprise them with their new room, courtesy of a two day madness known as the While You Were Out television show. They shook hands, Evan made his finishing speech of "look what happened While You Were Out!", and off they went to the hotel for the night.

* * *

Quatre finally let his facial muscles relax. It was hard to be the lovably, sunny designer all the damn time. Quatre had been ready to hit that boorish, crude carpenter over the head with a chair that last show, but it was a classic Queen-Anne chintz with cherry wood arms, and no asshole jock-strap was worth destroying something that lovely. Unlocking his room with the plastic card, Quatre walked into his suite and tossed his things onto the front table. Utterly exhausted, Quatre began to strip out of his clothes piece by piece as he made his way towards the lavish bed. There were perks to being a TV design star--he got his own suite paid for by the studio. He knew that most of the traveling crew had to bunk in the two-to-a-room kind of boxes in a motel down the road while he had a room with satellite TV, three couches, a dinning area, and a king size bed with a gold-trimmed down comforter.

Quatre flopped backwards, narrowly missing hitting his head on the canopy brackets in his haste, onto the gigantic bed in a heap of half-dressed designer. Spreading his arms out, not even reaching the edges on either side, Quatre simply starred at the ceiling.

It was such a waste. He was all by himself. He would get into his pajama's, order room service and eat it quietly by himself in front of the TV watching A Wedding Show and critique the bridal floral palette, then pick out his traveling clothes for the next day (they had another show in Illinois the day after), send his clothes to the hotel laundry, then go to sleep. He never touched anything other than the bed and the TV for goodness sakes! All the space was lost on him. And every time he found himself enshrined in some gigantic tastefully-decorated suite that would comfortable live four it only served to remind him just how small and alone he was.

Sniffling like the big baby he was, damn it, Quatre decided to get a tissue before he smeared his TV make-up onto the cream throw pillows, they were just too cute to mess up. Sliding bonelessly off the gigantic bed, Quatre moved across the yards of crimson carpeting into the bathroom.

Well, there was one thing he liked about being in a fancy hotel anyway, Quatre reminded himself as he stood in front of the wall mirror that took up everything above the long marble vanity counter which was outfitted with shining bras hardware and finished with tasteful studio lighting. Quatre felt better already, taking in the reflected image of the large whirlpool tub with complimentary bubble bath in five separate scents. Quatre turned and decided he would miss his shown tonight and take a late supper after nice long soak.

He was already half undressed anyway, so Quatre simply removed the last of his garments and turned on the faucet to fill the tub while he paid attention to other essential business. At the toilet, Quatre hummed absently to himself until he stopped speechless. Absolutely cowed, Quatre reached out a hesitant finger, then retracted in shock.

It was! Oh good god! The wall was done in a gorgeous cream-- no parchment, with grey dusted marbling effects and, goodness gracious, it was a paper!

Moving away from the toilet (which he never did use, actually) Quatre groped blindly for the phone he had seen on the wall near shower and immediately rang into the front desk.

"Hello. Hilton Concierge desk, how may I help you?" a friendly lady answered.

"I'm in the Crimson Suite, floor 2, and I must know where to find this lovely parchment wallpaper I'm looking at in my bathroom. It's lovely." Quatre replied, almost in awe of the makers of a paper so rich, yet subtle.

There was a moment's pause on the other side of the phone before the woman came back, "I'll patch you into the manager. Please hold."

Sighing as the tacky music began, Quatre finished his business with the toilet, poured in the bubble-bath, and tested the water, all before he came to hear the voice of the manager. "Mr. Winner. You have a complaint about your bathroom wallpaper, Sir?"

Quatre sighed, and corrected the man, only to be asked to hold again as he tried to contact the hotel's designer's records. Quatre dipped one foot into the hot tub, then the other, and sat at the side, simply swishing his feet around and planning out his outfit for the next day. The manager came back on the line about five minutes later and Quatre agreed to wait until tomorrow, when the manager assured him the information would be with his morning breakfast.

Quatre hung up the phone and slipped into the bath, letting the floral scent sooth his frayed nerves. He always got so damn anxious when he had to work with Jason-- the carpenter never finished his work on time, they were always waiting on him, and he just...rubbed Quatre the wrong way. Others seemed to like him well enough, but Quatre couldn't stand the carpenter. Letting his head fall back against the tub, Quatre just let his mind drift. They were headed to Illinois tomorrow, they had an outdoor space to transform, and Quatre was excited. He'd never done an outdoor-scape before and he just couldn't wait to get in there.

* * *

Rolling his luggage along, Quatre made his way through the airport and into the first class cabin of the plane fairly easily. It was almost noon, and the stars got to fly while the rest of the crew (and the substantial amount of gear) had set out before dawn on the road. Even with an almost 6 hour difference in departure time, Quatre knew the stars would be set up in a hotel and meeting the homeowner before most of the crew even passed the state line.

Unfortunately, Quatre knew he was designing this space with Jason as his carpenter. It made him anxious, but at least Quatre had a great design to fall back upon to calm himself. This time, Jason would have very little to build; he just had a lot of 'digging and rigging', as they said, which would be done mostly with the extra crew with some shots of Jason for the ladies at home. But, that wouldn't bring his spirits down today, nope, today was Planning Day 1 and he had such great ideas for the outdoor space he was practically drooling in anticipation.

This was his life.

* * *

**DAY ONE --Morning**

Quatre was under the tent set up on the road in front of the Chang's house grabbing a coffee to amuse himself until he had to get to wardrobe. He was never this early, nor was he usually in the staff tent. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

He hadn't been able to sleep much the night before; the Chang's yard was on a slope. A big slope. They would have to build an entire deck to support Quatre's outdoor dining area and that meant that they could barely begin the main center piece of the design until--and he shuddered to think it-- until Jason was finished building the deck. They would be able to do most of the planting and landscaping, but Quatre had not planned for that slope. But, as Evan said to the camera "Well, That's While You Were Out, for you!"

Quatre toyed with his necklaces as he drowned his coffee in milk and began to hum as he rocked from foot to foot to sooth himself.

Another voice started to accompany his, deeper but strong. Quatre turned, almost spilling his coffee on his Dolce powder-blue buttondown and matching strappy camisole. The other just chuckled and continued to hum into the next verse. Quatre looked up, knowing a clothes-crisis was thankfully averted, and found a few other crew-members milling about. Quatre couldn't say he really knew any of them. When on set he was often awfully busy, and the only two he knew were the over-friendly cameraman with the long braid and one of the drivers of the equipment truck, who was the cameraman's boyfriend. Neither of them, though, were under the tent at 7 am today.

Quatre decided to try to find the source of his impromptu accompaniment and after surveying the faces of the three others milling about, whom were half asleep, through process of elimination he deemed it had been whomever was sitting behind the morning paper a few tables away from the buffet-style table Quatre was leaning against.

God, Quatre hated confrontation. Duo, the Cameraman, had come up to HIM, so he didn't need to go through the awkward moment of approach. But Quatre had told himself over and over that he'd never make friends if he didn't take the opportunities when they were presented. So, Quatre painted on his best smile and walked confidently over to the newspaper. "Great accompaniment. We should get together and make a band." Quatre said merrily.

There was no response.

Then ever so slowly, the left corner of the paper rolled back to reveal one piercing green eye. Quatre smiled nervously, his gut twisting with the intensity of the look he was receiving. He couldn't even decipher what it meant. Nothing was said.

"...Sorry to bother you..." Quatre stammered out and began to retreat hastily.

"What should we call ourselves?" A deep rumbling baritone asked with amusement.

Quatre turned, stunned, to see the rest of the newspaper brought down and then folded up, revealing the man behind it. Green eyes were framed by a chiseled face on an equally muscle-built frame, all complimented with a sweeping bang of deep roan hair, cut short at the back so that it fell to one side of the man's face mysteriously. Quatre swallowed, but held his ground. Damn, he hated this sort of thing; walking up to new people for friendship purposes made him so self-conscious despite his fame. It was easy when he was on the show: he was the homeowner's best friend for two days and then he never heard from them again. That was it. But when it came to people he hadn't always known, it was like treading water in shark infested seas. He never knew when he'd get bitten.

The other man smirked at the silence, "Why don't you sit down before you spill your coffee again?" he asked, seeing the blonde's hands beginning to tremble. Dumbly, Quatre made his way to the table, and delicately placed himself in the chair, all the while staring at the other man as if he would bite. All in all, it was a rather odd moment.

"My name is Trowa, Trowa Barton. But I take it you thought I was someone else that you knew humming or something...you look like you swallowed a fly."

"Perhaps I may die." Quatre responded immediately, before blushing brightly, "Sorry, Mother Goose habit. I'm Quatre...Quatre Winner."

Trowa rolled his eyes dramatically, "Well, I knew that. I have been working with this crew for almost a year and half now."

Quatre blinked, surprised, "Do you work camera equipment?" Quatre asked, and then promptly slapped himself mentally for rudeness.

Thankfully Trowa simply chuckled, "Unfortunately, no. I got the hard job around here. I do all the grunt work and calculations the celebrity carpenters don't do. I am the understudy carpenter, at your service." Trowa said, extending a hand across the resin table. Quatre found himself returning the shake easily with a real smile.

"You work under both the carpenters on the show?" Quatre found himself asking with a gossip-hungry gleam, leaning back in his chair more comfortably and taking a sip of his coffee.

Trowa smirked, "I do. I don't like Jason either, if that was what you were alluding too. Andrew treats me better-- he gives me my own projects and he gets his own stuff done."

Mouth agape, Quatre stammered, "Am I THAT obvious?"

Trowa started to chuckle, "Not at all. Don't worry. On-camera you two work fine together. But I know he picks on you off-camera all the time, and I can see you practically having anxiety attacks waiting for him to finish his work. You avoid the carpentry tent as much as possible when he is there, which is probably why you didn't recognize me. I just put two and two together."

Quatre threw a crushed napkin at the smart ass with a smile, "Know it all."

The two sat in silence for a while, Trowa seeming to be scanning his paper and Quatre sipping on his too-hot beverage and playing with his necklace. Trowa had to admit, though, he was looking at Quatre. The blonde was definitely talented in design: he had put together a light blue silk shirt with a huge length of faux pearls which he wrapped tight once around his neck then let hang low, just short of his waste, and then completed the outfit with grey trousers-- all of which fit stunningly on the baby-blonde.

It was Trowa who broke the silence first, "So, I hear this is going to be very little carpentry. An easy build for me."

Quatre looked at him surprised, "Didn't you get the plans already? I sent them off yesterday evening. This space is going to need a lot of carpentry." Quatre saw the roan-haired man lift a questioning brow, "We have to build an entire deck, which wasn't part of the original plan. The yard slopes..."

Trowa groaned.

"Well, it's won't be so bad, with having to budget for more wood, I had to cut out a lot of the landscaping and the heat lamp, so there is much less digging and grunt work. But I got a wonderful idea from Mrs. Chang's kitchen centerpiece-- the inside is done in a lovely Chinese motif, and it's heavy on the rod iron-- and I'm planning on doing an incredible light fixture to make up for the lack of shrubbery. It's going to be gorgeous." Quatre raved.

Trowa leaned in with interest, "Really? We never get to find out what it's all going to look like. We're just given blueprints of this cabinet or that frame and sent on our way. But you're planning light fixtures outdoors?"

Quatre shook his head in affirmative vigorously, "Oh yes. It's a lantern theme. I've gotten ten glass lanterns and a box full of string lights. I want to do a four sided knot of string lights then a triangle apex to hold up the lantern." The love for the design practically radiated off the blonde and when he was talking about his design, he seemed to loose all that self-consciousness he was filled with just five minutes previous. Trowa had to admit, he liked the real smile a lot more that the television smile that he just realized he had always seen on the celebrity designer. There was something more real about the boy sitting across from him jabbering about his lights...which seemed awfully important to him.

"Oh yes, there are going to tie the whole design together. They are absolutely integral." Quatre responded to the question Trowa hadn't noticed he had asked aloud, "and the string lights I bought can be timed as well as dimmed and brightened. It'll be breathtaking with the soft wicker chairs. And I'm doing a knot..." before Trowa knew it, Quatre's faux pears were twisted into the four-looped, three-tied, almost butterfly-looking backdrop for his lamps. Quatre was absurdly delighted to find an interested audience.

Soon, though, the director came bursting madly into the tent and swooped down upon the distracted blonde, whisking him off to the make-up trailer so fast Quatre only managed a hurried wave goodbye to his new friend.

Camera's rolled and Evan began to explain the show-- 2 days, One room, and a $1,000 budget. It was the beginning of Day One and they had a lot of work to do. Quatre set out with his design plans, sicking Jason on the deck immediately, and then delegating the pruning, painting, and staining out to the rest of the crew.

This home owner, though, was fairly difficult to work with. He refused to sew, refused to paint, and downright walked away when asked how he felt about gardening. Mr. Wufei Chang was one of the most difficult homeowner's yet, but Quatre was wiser and soon he had him painting the high outdoor wall on a ladder, since Wufei wouldn't let some woman do such dangerous works. Quatre was a little disturbed to think Wufei was classifying him as a female...but at least Wufei was working!

By mid morning, Quatre was running madly to the local greenhouse because the trees he ordered were delayed, he was mixing paint like a madman to create the dusty stucco for the wall, vaulting over holes being dug and foundations being laid, and loving every minute of it. It was a mad dash, but there was nothing like finding that one piece you needed and coming back to see the progress. Although on Day One, it just seemed like more rubble and junk was accumulating across the once-sparse lawn.

By the time they broke for lunch, Quatre was already planning the next few hours in his head. Quatre saw Jason occupied at the doughnut table, flirting with one of the female stage hands, and counted his lucky stars. Quatre hurried towards the carpentry tent to survey the progression of the patio for himself. He had visited earlier with the cameras just to find Jason putting something through a buzz saw, trying to look burly and rugged, and when Quatre asked point-blank about the deck's completion, Jason had said it was his number one priority; Not an hour later, Quatre saw him throwing a football to Evan down the street.

Seeing his chance now though, Quatre snuck out of the 'Cast' lunch trailer and around the Chang's house to the carpentry tent set up on the road. Quatre walked in to find hundreds of rows of wood boards sitting in unorganized heaps of all different lengths and widths. He wasn't even sure which were already cut to fit and which were supposed to go in the ground or above. Damn it. He learned nothing with his little escapade. He was going to have to take Jason's word. He shuddered to think of the consequences.

"OI! Mr. 'I'm so talented with the buzz saw' is eating lunch, the coast is clear!" A very loud voice called. Quatre recognized Duo, his cameraman friend, immediately. A second later a pulsing vibration shook the ground. Loud and strong, a heavy beat strummed through the tent, 'The Cult' blearing it's sensuously melodies over the cacophony of a buzz saw and drill.

"I've still got your FACE Painted on my Heart!" belted out to the vocals of a strong singer, not on the album. Quatre made his way through the maze of wood stacked higher than his height (probably why Duo hadn't noticed him and called an all-clear for pumping up of the music) and winded around to find the epicenter at a worktable. Perched atop it was Duo, just rocking out to the beat with his hands swinging in the air-- but right beside him, bent to the task of guiding a piece of lumber through a table saw, belting out the tune in a sinfully good rendition, navy WYWO Crew T-shirt sweat-stuck to a sculpted chest, hips and shoulders swaying lightly to the beat, and gorgeous green eyes covered by a pair of plastic surfer-style safety-glasses, was Trowa.

Quatre just about fell to his knees in worship

Duo had to jump off the table as the board continued over his spot and Trowa had to stretch to keep it going. Twirling slowly with the song, Duo spotted Quatre, and with a wink, he continued to dance. A moment later, Trowa was finished with the one piece, and he pulled out a piece of sand paper and began to smooth the edges rigorously, while flicking his slim hips and rolling his body to the music, dancing as he worked the wood. It wasn't until the song had long since ended, and another rock-violin song had taken its place that Trowa acknowledged him. "Are you going to stand there all day, or is there something I can help you with?" Trowa called over the loud beat.

"I wanted to find out how my deck was going, but I can't tell!" Quatre shouted over the music.

Trowa nodded in time to the beat, "It's got a long way, but it'll get done. I'M working on it; Jason's only doing the trimmings!" Trowa called back over the music. Quatre had the ludicrous idea that perhaps it was too loud, but a few minutes later he was shown why. Jason came back from lunch and with a heavy push sent Duo and the other crew out of the tent, effectively ending the party. Trowa slowly finished up the board, and then moved onto another. Trowa was taking up the far, far left work table where it was placed curved behind the big white plastic While You Were Out sign, while Jason took to the main table, where the camera's always filmed, and blocked out the others.

"Did you want something, Miss. Decorator?" Jason asked snidely.

Quatre just glared with renewed dislike for the man who just kicked people out of his tent when they weren't even in his way. Instead of asking nicely with his made for TV smile, Quatre found himself practically spitting venom at the muscle-bound jack ass, "Yeah. When is my deck going to be done? I can't even begin to stain it or put up the furniture until it's done. You told me you'd be half done by Noon. It doesn't look like it to me?"

Jason, the blonde carpenter, sneered, "It's my top priority." He informed Quatre and went back to cleaning one of his tools.

Quatre nodded curtly and turned on his heels, anxious to have a minute left to grab lunch before he was back to the landscaping. He silently fumed, but was able to take it out on the soil as he dug support for the new trees.

The end of Day One rolled around as fast as it usually did, they were able to finish all but the last coat for the cream-stucco paint effect, their craft was done, the trees were all planted, and Jason had even sent in some supporting beams for the patio, so there was a skeleton of where it would go. They still had walkways, the second coat, all the staining of the deck wood, the staining of the dated fence, and Quatre's glorious lights left to be put up. Today had been a good day, though, Quatre mused with a smile noticing that, if he listened hard enough and there was a moment of stillness between all the clamor of the build, he could just barely hear a hint of rock music drifting in from the carpentry tents.

Quatre tumbled into his hotel room exhausted again, pulling off his clothes bit by bit again until he was left in his trousers and his rope of pearls. This time, Quatre managed to climb onto the big king size bed (done in a classic blue this time), and flick the TV on. The 'A Wedding Story' theme began to play as Quatre began to survey the room service menu and ordered during the commercial. A turkey breast with mashed potatoes was sent up and was across his lap in time for the vows.

Then he went to sleep, all alone in a bed he could never find the edge of. Routine claimed its victim again.

* * *

**Day Two**

Quatre was up early again, finding himself so awfully excited he couldn't sleep a minute longer. He attributed it all to finally being able to put up his light design; damn he was so proud of that, he had worked for hours perfecting the knotting strategy and exact length so that the strings would create a perfect arch that would last weathering. But, as Quatre found himself practically throwing his suitcase around to find something better to wear, Quatre had to admit that since his lights wouldn't care what he wore, that he, maybe, was a little, only a bit, excited over, hopefully, seeing Trowa again. Maybe. Just a bit.

Quatre found himself pouring coffee for himself at 7am again in the Crew tent, trying to find the roan-haired newspaper reader without looking obvious about scanning every moving object within his vision.

"If you are trying to be sneaky looking for me, you're failing spectacularly. Duo came over to the carpentry tent a minute ago and said there was a little lost designer in the crew tent looking forlornly for a friend. He assigned me the duty of letting you follow me home." Trowa leant against the other side of the buffet table, smiling merrily and filling a styrofoam plate with doughnuts, "I was also told to bring a Honey Crueler, a Boston Cream, and a Lemon Filled back with me as bait."

Quatre turned to see Trowa smiling roguishly at him, "Personally, I think Duo was trying a dramatic way to ask for food. That man is like a garbage disposal."

Quatre chuckled and helped Trowa find the hiding Boston Cream before following him back to the carpentry tent, where it seemed there was quite the gathering. Not just Duo, Heero, and Trowa were there, but it seemed almost the entire population of the crew was lounging around Trowa's workbench. A few of the people Quatre recognized from working with them, but most he didn't know at all. But they all seemed to know him, and waved kindly. Trowa weaved through the loose crowd and leaned against the worktable, offering the one stool to Quatre. It was a merry bunch, everyone was lively, especially Duo, who kept teasing Heero until the stoic man threatened to beat him with the chair Quatre was sitting on.

"Your deck skeleton is completely finished, the foundation is in and we just have to secure the floor boards to it. All we are waiting for today is the railings and detailing you wanted, which unfortunately, is all Jason's job." Trowa said, biting into his Lemon Filled doughnut. Then he got to watch as Quatre practically lit up like a firework.

"Oh that's WONDERFUL! Thank you so much, Trowa! I'm so happy to know the base will be finished. I can start the staining as soon as it's together." Quatre gushed, his genuine smile shining.

Trowa, though, lifted a skeptical brow, "But Quatre, I have yet to see those raved-about lights go up. Should I expect them finished ever?" Trowa teased.

Quatre simply smiled, "I'm beginning them the moment the day starts. I got the extra large ladder and everything. It will probably take me a good few hours to hook them all up, knot them, and hang all ten lanterns, but it'll be done before noon!" Quatre said definitively.

Duo had been listening over Quatre's shoulders and quirked a brow, "Don't get all hot over some lights, dude."

Quatre flushed in embarrassment, and stared down at his pointed zip-up boots with the cross-stitched edging. But Trowa came to his rescue, "Duo! Designing is his thing, so what if he gets excited about it? You have to see the rig he's got set up for these things, he showed me yesterday, and I think it'll look great. To bad he doesn't have those pearls on today, or he could show you. But he looks great in the Victorian look, too." Quatre fingered the cameo chocker he wore today with a slight smile. His look had aged from Elizabethan pearls to Victorian chokers in one day, and he was ludicrously delighted that Trowa had noticed.

Duo rolled his eyes, "That's one of those antique things you love so much, Trowa, isn't it?"

Trowa lifted a brow, "I believe that one is probably new, but it is designed after the traditional silhouette bust found in later Victorian jewelry."

"You enjoy Antiques, Trowa?" Quatre asked with a delighted smile.

"By brother can find a Michelangelo at a garage sale in Oklahoma." Heero stated, "Our grandmother loved antiques, and she used to pull us along every damn weekend. For some strange reason I have yet to comprehend, Trowa came to enjoy it."

"Shut up, Heero. You collect guns. I collect pieces of functional history. Who's the more evolved?" Trowa flung back with practiced ease.

Heero snorted, "Well, when a burglar breaks in, you can take one of your 'historically functional' chairs and break it over his rock-hard skull. I'd rather a bullet, thanks."

"You always were the more violent of the two of us." Trowa stated calmly.

Heero grunted, "Yeah. That's why mom refuses to believe I'm engaged to Duo, but didn't bat a lash when you came out of the closet."

A wood chip was flung into Heero's hair while Trowa oh-so-innocently whistled.

Quatre was still laughing when he was, again, lassoed into the make-up trailer by the director.

**

* * *

DAY TWO-- On set**

The day was going quite well. True to his word, the foundation was in and the deck skeleton was up within the hour, just as Trowa had promised. Mr. Chang was even proving to be rather happy doing manual labor, and was sent to place the rocks for the pathway. Evan was working on staining and Leslie (the other cast member) was painting the wicker outdoor set by the carpentry tent. Quatre was anxious to get to his lights, so he set up the ladder against the left edge of the two-story roof.

The ladder leant on the roof edge, its supports stuck firmly into the grassy ground which would soon be covered by the patio, so he had to work quickly so as not to encumber the progress of the deck. Quatre stood almost at the top, knotting the first of his masterpieces then twisting in the triangle apex, and hanging the electric lantern before nailing in the supports to keep it in place. It took him almost twenty minutes to knot and secure the first one, but seeing his idea come to fruition was well worth the time.

The cameras were rolling on the building of the deck below him, Jason making his appearance carrying loads of sanded floor boards that Quatre now knew were not even cut by him, and making a show of laying a few down and putting hammer to nail for the shot. Quatre could even see Trowa working in the tent from his elevation, and watched the roan-haired man take a load of lumber onto his shoulders and begin towards the yard. Trowa spotted Quatre perched atop the ladder and smiled as he carried his load towards the yard. Quatre waved to him, but had to turn back to his task when Trowa came too close for him to see from his angle.

The flooring was starting to get closer to his ladder, but Quatre wasn't worried yet. It only took him 15 minutes to get the second light tied off. Quatre measured his distances, and placed the lantern so that the string lights fell into the perfect dip above the yard and began to hammer in the supporting nails, the sound of his own hammer deafening him.

Jason lugged more planks over than he wished to nail down, so he hefted the rest of his load to lean against a stack of peat moss pilled inside the deck structure and promptly left to sand more of the railing beams.

Trowa had already placed his load of lumber within easier access for the finishers, and was turning to leave when he heard the terrified scream.

The lumber leaning against the peat moss slid off the side, the 60-some-pounds of wood thumped against the bottom of the ladder. Swaying backwards, one hand holding up his light display and the other hammering, Quatre let go of his precious lights as the ladder resonated with the blunt force.

Before he even had time to drop the hammer, Quatre was arching off the ladder and free-falling towards the foundation speckled ground.

There were cameras and people surrounding him seconds later, catching every second of his agony. He only narrowly missed the meter high foundation spike. He was lucky to have not been skewered alive, but pain was ripping through his entire body. Quatre rolled off his arm, cradling it to his chest as the camera's filmed on.

"Quatre!" He heard yelled from the chaos, and there was Trowa, kneeling in front of him and trying to hold Quatre still so he could get a look at his arm. People swooped in from all sides; Evan, the cameras, and anyone nearby surrounded him.

Quatre heard someone determine he needed to be sent to the hospital. But he couldn't! He had to be there, he had to finish his lights. If he lost all that time there was no way he could finish!

"I'm fine." He lied through his teeth, "It's just bruised. I'll be okay! I have to finish." Quatre rolled, and found Trowa's shoulder to try and prop himself into a standing position, but his arm screamed in pain at even the smallest movement.

There were four others pulling at him to get him up and even more herding him towards one of the SUVs on the road. Quatre didn't know any of the faces except Trowa's, and he reached out with his good hand and grasped at Trowa's T-shirt for an anchor. But despite the pain from his arm, Quatre felt his heart breaking, knowing he couldn't finish his design, it would be nothing without the centerpiece lights! And since they weren't on the blueprints, no one else could finish them because no one else knew how to knot--

Quatre yanked Trowa's T-shirt, hurdling the carpenter towards him desperately, "Trowa! Please. Finish my lights! Please! No one else knows how! Please!" Quatre begged through sobs of pain. Quatre was manhandled into the SUV while Heero climbed in the driver's side and burnt rubber out of the driveway.

With a few good shots of the retreating SUV, the camera's dispersed, and the road was abandoned, except for Trowa, who stood looking stupidly where the car had been.

Evan was in front of Duo's camera giving a summary of the situation to be cut in to the shots of Quatre falling. Someone from the crew had gone in and removed the ladder and the cacophony of building and planting and filming resumed around the Chang house. Trowa, after someone had bumped his shoulder accidentally, found himself wandering back to his work bench to finish sanding the detailing for the deck-- his spot in the perfect view of the long string of lights hanging broken and limp from the second knotted lantern.

* * *

"Please, just fix me quickly and send me back!" Quatre begged the doctor looking at his arm. The man lifted a brow, and just sent him for X-Rays. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was that Quatre had never been sped through an emergency room so quickly before. But even with one of the PR men standing with him and despite the menacing phone calls from the producer, Quatre was still stuck waiting for his X-rays to develop in the waiting room for a long, long, LONG time wishing that Heero had stayed after dropping him off so he'd at least have someone to talk to.

* * *

"Evan?" Trowa beckoned the host as he walked by his table on his way to check up on Leslie's chair painting. The man locked eyes with the carpenter and stopped at his workbench, even giving him a hand hefting the next slab onto the table.

"It's been about an hour since Quatre left, and, uh, isn't someone going to get to work on those lights? They're still hanging there, and I know it was taking him about 20 minutes per knot. They aren't going to be finished if someone doesn't get to them soon." Trowa tried to seem nonchalant about it. He had his own workload, but the guilt about ignoring Quatre's pleading eyes was really starting to bother him.

"Yeah. We're scrapping them. The only thing we have on the plans is just hanging lanterns, not those string lights, and were already one crew man down. It's not a bog deal of we don't finish them." Evan replied lightly.

Trowa was speechless, just about putting his fingers through the saw in his shock.

Trowa turned the saw off to avert further injury, "You can't do that. He- he'd be crushed. Quatre was really excited about those lights. You can't just take them down, it'd kill him when he got back." Trowa told the host.

Evan lifted a brow, "Since when did you even know what was being done?"

Trowa's eyes narrowed, ready for a fight. He and Even had always been on good terms since Evan had come to the show. Evan understood the amount of work being done behind the scenes and had always respected the backstage crew, so he was well liked by them all. But he was known for being very stubborn at times, despite his great leadership skills. "I was talking with Quatre yesterday morning, and he raved about his lights, his precious, integral, masterpiece lights for almost an hour. He didn't want to go to the hospital because he couldn't finish his lights. He begged me to make sure they got done. He would be crushed if they were just scrapped. Just get someone up there to finish them, okay?"

Evan smiled indulgently, "Sorry, Trowa. But when things happen we can't all just bend to the whimsy of one of our designers. We just don't have the people, Dude." He explained again and left the table to rejoin the cameras over by Leslie's spray painting fun after Trowa turned his saw back on with a frustrated curse and bent to finishing the last of the planks for the deck.

**

* * *

DAY TWO-- LUNCH**

Trowa stayed on set to finish setting down the boards after most of the crew had gone for lunch. They were only allotted some half hour and most did not dawdle. Trowa, though, was working to finish the top of the deck. He had only three boards left to secure. And then he would probably loose his job.

Those string lights had been swaying in the wind for a while now and Trowa decided to do something about it. With the last nail securing the boards to the foundation, Trowa now had a stable surface to plant the ladder on. He hefted the giant thing up onto the deck and positioned it in place, this time securing the bottom with a few bricks so it wouldn't move either way. With his tools around his waist and his mind set, Trowa began to climb just as the first few crewmen began to filter back into the yard. He was at the top for almost ten minutes, the string lights in hand and his fingers working, trying to mimic the twists Quatre had shown him with his pearls yesterday morning, before someone finally caught on.

"What are you doing up there, Barton? Get off the set, we're filming!" Jason hollered, bringing everyone's attention to the understudy carpenter working aloft.

Trowa took a deep breath and continued tugging and threading the string lights into what appeared to be a tattered mess. But Trowa had a smile upon his face and in front of everyone he gave both sides of the string lights a good pull and the center tightened to create a perfect replica of Quatre's knot. Trowa measured the distance of the arch, and even though he had a few meters more space, Trowa decided that the victory was in making the right knot. He undid it quickly and, letting more of the string lights go slack, began again, creating the third knot in the time it took Jason to raise hell with the Director and get all the management on the set.

"Mr. Barton. Get down from there!" the Director shouted after a few select curses.

Trowa nailed the supports in and hung the knot, spaced correctly, and in a perfect replica of Quatre's knot. "I'm sorry, Sir. But Quatre asked me directly to hang these lights for him. It meant a lot to him that they get done, and he begged me to finish before he went to the hospital. I tried to ask, but you were trashing them without a thought." Trowa hollered down. Duo was filming, although the director gave explicit instructions for the cameramen to ignore Trowa's little mutiny. It would look bad if the people at home got to see the extras working behind the stars without credit.

"Get down now!" The director yelled again, "They are just stupid lights!"

"Not to Quatre." Trowa answered fiercely, "I'm sorry, Sir, But I'm not leaving them for your team to tear down. Quatre broke his arm, and even if he did get back with enough time, he wouldn't be able to finish. I'm afraid you'll just have to film around me."

"This is ludicrous." The grey-haired director said, looking around for an idea. He spotted Duo filming. "Turn that off."

"Sorry, Sir." Duo said swinging the camera to take in the Director, catching Trowa's mutinous spirit. He was sick of working like a dog without respect. "I'm afraid my camera just won't shut off. Can't stop it. Figured I might as well catch the interesting stuff!" Duo retorted cheekily.

Jason began towards the bottom of Trowa's ladder purposefully and Trowa feared that he would have an excuse for not finishing the lights because he would be lying in a hospital bed beside Quatre.

But before he had time to recite the first line of prayers he saw Heero taking a stance right beneath the ladder, his arms crossed and legs apart sturdily. More of the crew came out from around the yard to flank him at the bottom, or jump on with Duo cheering while filming it all and dodging the director who was trying to forcefully cap his shoulder-held camera.

As the ruckus escalated out back, the black While You Were Out SUV pulled up out front and Quatre stepped into the house. He was, thankfully, not too stoned on medication to miss the arguing and hooplah out back. Quatre, not ready to face it just yet, instead took to the master stairs, weaving his way around stationary cameras to come out in the second floor study, where the large bay window was open to the outside and the voices came in the clearest. What he didn't realize was that it was so loud from there because directly outside the window was Trowa's shoulders and the lights he was fighting for.

Quatre sucked in a breath for courage, then popped his head out the second story window, "WHAT'S GOING ON!" Quatre bellowed, nearly shocking Trowa off the ladder, but effectively shutting everyone up below. Nobody wanted to get in the way of an angry designer in pain.

Trowa took a seat on the ladder rung and came face to face with the blonde designer, "Hey. How's that arm doing?" Trowa asked with concern. Quatre smiled and lightly laid his hand on Trowa's arm, reassuring him without words. Using Trowa's ample bicep as leverage, Quatre leaned further out the window and took stock of the mess below.

"Quatre?" Evan called up, "We were just discussing your lights, and..."

Quatre used his pause for breath to take stalk of Trowa's handiwork. "They're WONDERFUL! Oh, thank you Trowa! I would've been so upset if they had ditched them! Thank you so much!" Quatre cried, practically vaulting out of the house in order to hug the apprentice carpenter. Trowa had to ease him back onto the firm floor of the house carefully before he could let him go.

Quatre looked down, his smile shining like a 100 watt bulb, "Thank you so much for letting him finish my lights!" Quatre hollered down to the director, "They meant a lot to me to get done. Thank you, everyone!"

The heartfelt declaration of thanks seemed to cow even the loudest naysayer (the director) into submission. Quatre jogged back down the stairs and swung out to meet the crew downstairs and get a ground-view of his beloved lights. They looked even better than he thought (and the lovely angle of Trowa's ass next to them only added to the design). Crisis averted, Quatre began to take stock of what had been done in his absence and began to one-handedly plant where it was needed most.

The last light went up. Trowa's nail gun shot the lights into place, and then he added two more to the end to secure the whole thing. Giving the gun a western-style barrel blow, Trowa swung it around his trigger finger and holstered it into his tool belt. After he climbed down the cursed ladder of doom, he prepared to bleed back into the woodwork behind the scenes again. There was only another hour until the reveal, and Trowa knew Jason had left the workshop in a mess. Truth be told, Trowa was a little suspicious of what shape he would find the carpentry tent in, since there was STILL no fencing or stairs on the deck.

Quatre was perched dejectedly on the deck, his legs swinging into the gaping hole where the stairs should be. Trowa leapt down easily, it was only about two feet off the ground, and took a patch of deck beside him. "Don't freak out yet. There's still an hour. Jason will get the finishing done on time." Trowa said with an amiable shoulder push.

Quatre nodded and jumped to his feet, "You're right. We're just about done, but I'm not being very productive moping around here, am I? I should go work on the finishing details and just...let the deck come together..." Quatre said, trying to look at the bright side and let his anxiety go with a deep cleansing breath.

His breaths were working, too, until he turned towards the path and saw Jason, who was supposed to be diligently enclosed in the carpentry tent finishing the railing, dropping a sapling into a hole and beginning to burry it. Quatre's calming breathing turned to anxious hyperventilation in a heartbeat. Quatre took off in the direction of his attention deficit Carpenter and gave him an angry tap to the shoulder. There were three cameras near by, eager to catch the fireworks.

"There are no stairs on that deck! Why are you planting! The garden isn't even your job; It's mine and Wufei's! The deck had to be finished. People walk on that, children play on that, one less tree won't matter!"

Jason sucked in a breath and raised himself from his crouch. He towered above Quatre by almost a foot, and when he turned to face him, his chest was straight in Quatre's face. "The stairs are being finished, but I am not doing the railing. Your stupid little lights were obviously more important. You took away my help, so it isn't going to get done. Now get out of my face, Winner!" Jason bellowed, his temper rising.

Quatre was not afraid. He was finished with this crap, it was enough, (or it was the pain medication) and he wasn't going to stand down this time. "Damn it, Jason. You had all afternoon to do stairs and a railing! You are supposed to be the expert carpenter on this show, and you NEVER get your work done! This deck should've been finished by the end of Day One! It's an hour to the reveal, and it is STILL not finished!"

Jason was ready to clock the pansy-assed blonde, but his way was blocked when Trowa took up stance right behind the designer and glared.

"I finished the entire deck before I even touched those lights, don't you dare blame me for your work not being complete. From the beginning your sole duty was the finishing. If you couldn't finish the damn railing, then it's no one's fault but your own, Jason." Trowa seethed with a frosty bite.

Jason tightened his fist, "You, Barton, have crossed the line. You are MY assistant, and I don't take orders from you. I want you out of my tent."

Trowa's eyes narrowed and he addressed Quatre, turning his back on Jason, "There is an hour left until the reveal. I'll finish that railing. And you can trust my word." Trowa snarled before walking purposely towards the carpentry tent. Jason fumed and turned on his heel, striding towards the executive trailer. Quatre rolled his eyes and moved off to supervise the non-testosterone fueled gardening, finishing the covering of the poor defenseless tree Jason had brought into the whole mess.

* * *

The truck had been moved out, the yard was perfectly finished and Quatre, Evan, Jason, and Leslie waited outside with baited breath for Wufei to lead his wife into the completed back yard. She was almost an hour overdue, but her car had just been sighted turning the corner and was now pulling into the driveway, the cameras hidden in shrubbery catching her every move.

The patio doors opened and Marian Chang emerged, accompanied with a round of clapping and her husband urging the shocked woman onward with a grin.

"Hi! I'm Evan Farmer, the host of While You Were Out, and while you were gone on your two day spa trip, your husband had us come in and redo your backyard. This is designer Quatre Winner," Evan introduced and Quatre shook the surprised woman's hand with his TV smile. Evan introduced Jason and Leslie, both shaking her hand too, then went on to explain the space, pointing out the deck, the pond and swing, and of course, Quatre's lamp-lit deck nook, complete with a built-in bar.

Marian quickly regained her wits and admired the two-seater swing beside the pond while Evan pointed out the lamp craft Wufei had made and then walked them over to the deck.

Wufei leaned against the completed railings and waited for Even to finish regaling his wife before stealing the conversation, "I thank these people tremendously for what they have done, but" and Wufei's eyes narrowed dangerously, "a great injustice was done. I would like to thank the other Carpenter for all his work, because it was Mr. Barton who really did the most work here."

Wufei moved off the deck to the astonishment of all; the cameras, the confused cast, and his wife following close behind. Weaving out onto the side street beside his house, Wufei walked them all to a little crew tent set up, crammed full of camera, lighting, and grunt-work crew. Beer in hand, the crew's jaws dropped when the group descended into the tent, the home owner at the front.

"I wish to thank Mr. Barton." Wufei announced. The crew glared.

Quatre broke away from the pack and walked a few steps in, "Trowa? C'mon out!" He surveyed the room, looking for the tall man, but found piercing blue eyes starring. "Heero! Trowa didn't leave already, did he? I didn't get a chance to invite him for dinner as a thank you."

Heero glared past Quatre's shoulder, "Trowa was escorted off the premises an hour ago." Heero stated briskly. "Duo went to the police station to bail him out."

"What! Why, Heero?" Quatre asked, aghast.

It was Jason who answered, the Director standing behind him, "Mr. Barton refused to leave the premises after his employment was terminated and we had to call the police in to remove him."

"He finished his job." Heero spat superiorly.

Wufei Chang took his wife's hand, and gave Evan a brisk bow, "We thank you for what you and your team did to our house." And then they both left, Wufei taking a moment to glare in indignation behind him as he and his wife disappeared into their house. The crew tent dissolved quietly around them, until only the director and Quatre stood underneath. Then the Director urged Quatre into the cab he had called for him.

Moving robotically into his room, dropping his things to the floor and remembering to remove his shoes before he climbed on to the king sized bed, Quatre absently flicked on the television and found himself staring at the classic blue bedspread with distaste.

The whole room was disgusting, from its sconce lighting and mahogany wainscoting; the entire room was an eyesore that was blurring in front of his vision. It was just a stupid, frivolous, egotistical design just like his which had gotten a person fired; his life forced to start over again. His show began to play, the tune drifting over and Quatre turned to see a clip of the bridesmaid dresses. He hated them, and he hated his Goddamn string lights too.

Sitting quietly in his big empty suite, Quatre rolled to his side and cried, his TV mascara running onto the cream sheets in little smudges of black as he sobbed through the night...

**End Part One**

* * *

**Notes:**  
Please leave a message telling me how you like it! This is my little foyer back into fanfiction and I hope you all like it! And Please, did you mostly understand most fo the design-language, or is it far to much? Drop me a line!


	2. Chapter 2

**While You Were Out**

By: DentelleNoir

**Summary**: AU. Romance. 3x4. One shot in two parts. Decorating for a moving reality-design show doesn't leave much time to get to know people. But more goes on behind the scenes than what the cameras catch.

**Warnings:** Fluff, one or two hard curses, the terminology of one who watches WAY too many designing shows, Jason bashing (if you don't know who I mean, then it won't really matter), and the use of the 'While You Were Out' Show. This began as a one shot and sort of morphed into two parts, but I still call it a One Shot because I just broke it up to make it less daunting to read.

**While You Were Out-- Part Two**

About a MONTH later

The design director's office wasn't really as nice as Quatre thought it should've been-- the woman being the head of all the designers for While You Were Out and all. He supposed it all fit together, but he couldn't really see it. He was on set in Arizona, which also happened to be where the design head's summer home was, and Quatre was now sitting inside her home-office getting his formal review.

"Quatre," she said after perusing the tape and boards of his last few rooms, "Your designs over the past month have been...dull. Your original portfolio and the rooms you have done for us before were quite to our taste, but since the...incident...during the Chang make-over, your work has..." she drifted off as if looking for the correct adjective, "It's stunk. Quatre, you have this current project to finish, and then you are scheduled to design in Tulsan, where the season will finish. Your contract renewal will be looked at after the month break."

"Yes ma'am." Quatre nodded gently, he knew since the letter came that he would be booted off the show; he just didn't care anymore. Despite her disappointment in him, he was pleasantly dismissed shortly after; she was, after all, a nice lady at heart.

Quatre was back on location not an hour after he had left it, and it all seemed the same, really. The design was in bold reds and with elegant gold touches. It was a lovely, livable room, with accents of a stylised sun on the furniture and the bed flowing with gold taffeta pillows. But Quatre wasn't enthusiastic about it. He never got enthusiastic about a project since...

Quatre gently laced his fingers in the long string of pearls he wore almost religiously now. They had become his trademark, Evan had commented to him once. Quatre wore them to keep his fingers occupied so that he wouldn't get too involved in something like stupid lights ever again and cost someone their lively-hood.

"Hey, Quatre?" Someone asked from behind him. Painting on his TV smile, Quatre turned politely to spot one of the crew members behind him, a black While You Were Out CREW T-shirt tightly clung to her ample bosoms. Quatre didn't recognize her face, but that really didn't surprise him. "Hey, I heard you were looking for a light fixture better than the simple overhead lamps you have."

Quatre's interest jumped a bit, although it barely made it over a two-foot hurdle now-a-days, even while shoe shopping.

"I know about a great antique shop, just a twenty minute drive away in the next town. They have a really great collection of furniture-- not like a lot of shops with only clothes and trinkets. I thought you'd want to know," She said innocently, handing him a business card with the address to 'Antique Artistry' and a number.

Quatre shrugged and considered the card. He took stalk of the room: the wet paint glistening, the furniture staining well under control, and Jason and his new assistant carpenter (this noisy brute of an assistant Jason had played football with in College) were taking the morning to do one ottoman. While there were tons Quatre could've been doing, he wasn't doing it, so he decided to bring a camera crew and Evan on the road to check out the antique shop for a mahogany light fixture.

* * *

Evan pulled the van through intricate rod iron driveway gates and parked. The PR guy had called ahead and got the proprietor to agree to their filming in the store, and so they set out with one shoulder held camera and two WYWO cast. Quatre gave his TV smile and mock-ran into the shop for the cameraman, then did it twice more so he got different angles.

Finally, they made it into the store. It was a two-story converted farm house, with a classic country porch and even a selection of rocking chairs outside to complete the bumpkin look. Moving inside, though, Quatre found the store much more contemporary than the outside. The place, while having a good amount of country pieces at low prices, also carried a virtual goldmine of old English re-finished pieces from all different time periods.

In short, it was a place Quatre could've got excited about--If he let himself even care these days.

Even quickly singled out a piece for the room with an antique lamp and shade, and Quatre was left to wander alone. He moved through the place, eyeing several pieces but not finding that spark of design that always used to lead him. The woman who had been standing behind the counter smiled brightly and tried to point him to several pieces. She was young with bright red hair and spangled earrings, but Quatre was simply smiling with her out of manners. He just...wasn't interested.

"Quatre, We got the lamp for $40, when you're ready we can get back to the set." Evan called out and hefted the big wooden thing off the front register desk, a mischievous smile on his lips.

Quatre froze, staring at the man leaning casually behind the register now and watching him with an amused glint. Evan had herded the cameras out of the shop once he had revealed those piercing green eyes and sweep of roan hair. Quatre was left utterly speechless, his eyes beginning to mist.

"Maybe you'd be interested in some of our jewelry? We have some great pieces from all different eras." Trowa said, his voice as musical and lively as it was a month ago. He pushed off from the counter and turned, perusing a wall filled with hanging necklaces and trinkets.

Quatre took a step closer, then another until he was at the desk, almost within touching distance of the man whose life he thought he ruined. "Trowa?"

Trowa turned around with a smile, holding a few necklaces in his hands and holding them up next to Quatre's face. He didn't seem to like what he had picked out, and strode towards the front window, crawling catlike over the backdrop and fetching something from the window display.

It was a locket, silver and square instead of the traditional circle, on a flat-linked chain of matching tarnished silver. The piece was not gleaming; it looked well loved and it was being put around Quatre's neck by Trowa. Once the weight settled on his throat Quatre immediately touched it, loving the feel of the intricate carving on the front immediately. "Trowa? You-- you work here? It's lovely." Quatre finally stammered out something to the man, his fingers not leaving the necklace as his eyes took in the antique shop with a renewed lust for discovering its treasures.

"I suppose I work here, in a manner of speaking. This is my store, I own it, my sister and I work it, I find the pieces and fix some up. Yep, this store's my baby. I always felt bad going all around the country on the show when my store was waiting for me back home. But I did find some great pieces while I was traveling." Trowa said, placing himself on the store-side of the register deck so Quatre could get a good look of him.

"How... How much do I owe you for the locket?" Quatre asked, his voice cracking slightly as he felt his heart beat like a hummingbird's.

Trowa pursed his lip and placed his hand on his chin, mocking deep thought, "Hm. That was a very valuable piece. It took a lot for me to procure it...Steep price... But for you," Trowa said, smiling as he looked Quatre over, "For you, I'd let it go for coffee."

"How about it, there's a place just down the road that has the best biscotti?" Trowa was flirting with him as if he had no hard feelings whatsoever.

Quatre's face blushed, "Oh YES!" he gushed, practically falling all over himself. But he caught himself in time, "oh, No. We're on set...I'm doing a renascence bedroom in the city, I'm already taking set time..."

Trowa's face faulted with the mention of the show, but smiled almost sardonically. "I understand. You go do what you love." Trowa said with a tone of graceful defeat.

"NO! No, Trowa, Please! I want to, I desperately want to. I just can't right now, Can I take a rain check? Can I up the price to a dinner instead?" Quatre begged, Trowa wasn't exactly swayed, so Quatre threw him a pleading smile.

Quatre always got his way with that smile, and today wasn't any different. Trowa caved within moments, and sent Quatre on his way with a playful push before Evan marched back into his store to collect the derelict designer.

The ride back to the set was filled with chit chat from the cameramen and Quatre smiling gently into the rearview mirror. Quatre touched the locket once more, opening up his shirt another button to show his new jewelry off. For once not caring, he shed his pearls for the first time in almost a month.

Once they got on-set, the new lamp in hand, Quatre took a good look around and pulled out his dusty notebook--the room needed some spice, and he knew exactly how to do it.

Before the end of Day One he had added a stencil effect, changed the craft, and even moved some of the furniture. He was excited to finish the bedroom, and it would be beautiful.

* * *

The Antique store sign was flipped to 'close', and Trowa found himself pacing. He was early, he knew. He remembered working on that show; the crazy hours, the unknown timing, and Trowa knew how much work there was for the designer. But that didn't mean that he wasn't anxious. After a half hour of wearing thin his floor, Trowa decided to do something constructive with his energy and went up the stairs with his sander in hand and began to work off the tacky yellow paint someone over that last hundred years had shellacked onto his new pet project.

* * *

The reveal went off without a hitch, the homeowner was delighted with his bedroom, and Quatre had even gotten a phone call from the design head that had just about fired him to congratulate him. He promptly said thanks and hung up. Putting petal to metal in one of the company cars, Quatre flew onto the highway and did the 20 minute trip in 15.

This time, Quatre noticed the detailing on the old iron driveway gate and marveled at the old-style masonry of the stone wall around the farmhouse, and he noticed the delicately planted flowers in front, and the perfectly balanced window display made with the perfect mix of tradition and contemporary styles to foreshadow what Quatre now knew was inside. He berated himself for not noticing the details earlier.

The sign said Closed, but the door was open to the night air and Quatre could clearly hear the scream of a sander underneath the heavy rock'n'roll beat that heralded Trowa's presence.

The familiarity of the sounds made Quatre feel at home; the smells and sights of the shop were more welcoming to him than his New York Loft ever had been (even after he bought his cats Snowball and Santa the year before just to feel loved). Quatre followed the driving base to find it descending from the open loft above. He could see the upstairs from the atrium-style entrance, but he couldn't see Trowa.

"TROWA?" Quatre bellowed as loud as he could, a smile lighting his face as he found an excuse to scream his lungs out. It was freeing in a way, being able to just yell. "TROOOOOWA!" Quatre screamed.

The sander scream stopped and Trowa's head and shoulders came into view, "STELLA!" he bellowed down with a brilliant smile.

"What about... Romeo, Romeo?" Quatre shot back.

"I enjoyed Streetcar Named Desire better. Marlon Brando is my role model." Trowa hollered back. "I'll be down in a sec!"

Quatre waved and then started to hunt through the store with a renewed interest. There were so many lovely pieces, he was getting inspired at every turn, and before he even realized Trowa was downstairs, Quatre had his notebook flipped open and was drawing and writing up plans and themes.

Turning to see Trowa right behind him, Quatre smiled sheepishly, "Sorry, just I haven't been very...inspired lately and you have so many--is that a genuine Queen-Anne tea table, with button feet? The restoration is beautiful." Quatre pounced on the table, running his fingers over the clean, but well worn wood with relish.

Trowa moved up behind Quatre and joined the pale fingers in running across the top, "Mmhm. Genuine 17 hundreds piece. I picked it up in Georgia a few months back from an old shop going out of business. It was being used to prop up the water cooler! I worked for weeks trying to remove the water stains, but I guess I was successful if you are impressed."

Quatre turned his bright blue eyes onto Trowa in awe, "You restore them?"

Trowa nodded humbly, "Yeah. It's something to do. I am a carpenter, remember; I know how to work wood and fix it up. Some of these pieces I've had to bridge and reinforce, and some pieces I had to completely rebuild. But I enjoy it. It keeps me busy."

"Is that what you doing up there when I came in?" Quatre asked with interest. Trowa started towards the stairs behind the register and motioned for Quatre to follow him. They were ancient stairs, really, with a distinctive creak and well-wore groves in the center that would make anyone nervous if they didn't know the owner was a carpenter as talented and persistent as Trowa was.

They emerged in an open loft, the floor layered with dust from the sanding and work. There was a mechanic-style tool box on wheels pulled up beside a propped-up end table, one leg missing from the cherry-wood piece. But scattered all around the little loft was piece after piece of furniture, waiting for Trowa to get to it and repair their splinters and boo-boos. Quatre began to take a deeper look at each, wondering how much Trowa had already worked to build them up to where they were, because it was obvious some had already been fixed up quite a bit.

Quatre looked up to ask Trowa a question, but couldn't seem to find him. He just chuckled, figuring Trowa had probably told him he'd be right back, and Quatre had been too engrossed in admiring the work to hear it. He did that a lot.

Moving closer to the back of the loft, Quatre noticed that the most-finished pieces seemed to be nearer to the back. Moving over to check out a grandfather clock with the actual mechanism gutted beside it, Quatre spied a wardrobe through the door. It was done in a lovely cherry-wood finish complete with classic Victorian hardware that had Quatre drooling to get a better look.

Quatre was already formulating designs for its use before he even got in front of it. It was much taller than Quatre was, and the hardware was an antique brass with real human-worn groves. Quatre reverently stroked its door, and then gave the cool brass handle a pull. It opened easily and no sawdust cascaded down atop his head this time.

Then Quatre saw why.

The antique wardrobe was filled with shirts and coats, and pants hung neatly from the metal wrung or were tossed haphazardly in the hamper at the bottom. With a drastic blush Quatre closed the doors as quickly as he possible could. His whole face was as red as the wardrobe! Quatre could now say with certainty that Trowa was a briefs man.

Turning with dread, Quatre took the moment he should've taken before barging in and surveyed around him. Yep. There was a dresser to the side, a TV, and a pair of socks on the floor. There was a wooden sleigh bed (which was actually made), the right side of the hunter green covers housing a stack of carpentry and sports magazines with a remote control sitting harmlessly on top of the pile. Yep. Quatre had walked himself right into Trowa's bedroom.

And, as expected in situations where the most embarrassing thing has to happen, there stood Trowa, leaning against the doorframe, laughing his ass off at Quatre's expense.

"You look like you swallowed a fly." Trowa let out with another round of belly-breaking laughs.

"Perhaps I may die--Of embarrassment! I didn't mean to come in here, I just saw the wardrobe and I didn't even think before I went to look." Quatre stuttered out, his face flaming red as Trowa continued to laugh, practically doubled over by now.

"Oh Shut up." Quatre chided, a smile reaching his own face by now. He walked over and gave Trowa's -still- laughing shoulders a good push, sending the man into the wall to stay upright.

"S-haha. Sorry. I shoulda...haha...shoulda told you I lived up here too," was all Trowa got out before giving into another fit of laughter. But Trowa looked so ridiculous hunched over in the doorframe that Quatre had to start too. Still laughing hysterically at each other, Trowa sat Quatre down at the kitchen table to get him a glass of water before he chocked to death on his own laughter.

Quatre sipped at his much needed drink, and took the time to peruse the kitchen. His designer's eye hit on quite a few trouble spots, but he kept his big mouth shut. "Nice table. Did you fix this up too?" Quatre asked, complimenting the one piece he liked.

Trowa sat himself down opposite Quatre, a smile still on his face, "Nope. This was Cathy's, my sister you met downstairs, from her old place. She decorated the kitchen for me. The roosters were all her fault, thank you very much, but she refused to let me use her plates without the matching salt shakers, oven mitts, frilly fridge-top-thingies and all." Trowa shrugged, "I needed the dishes. I never got around to burning the rest."

Quatre chuckled along, and took his time to finish his last gulp of water. He didn't really want to leave there just yet. The whole place felt lived in; it wasn't the sterile hotel rooms he'd been shunted into city after city for the last couple of months. But he was getting hungry, a fact that his stomach was reminding him of at that very moment.

"Hey Quatre, how about I just make us something for dinner here? The nearest place is in town, and I'd hate to keep you out too late. You still have Day Two of the design tomorrow, right? I can make...Spaghetti and sauce." Trowa offered, trying to make his dish sound exotic. It just worked to make Quatre laugh.

Quatre nodded, a grin on his face, "I'd love that. I haven't had a meal not provided by room service or drive-through in a long, long time." And before Quatre could even finish his sentence, Trowa was up and grabbing pasta and canned sauce from his cupboards and putting pots onto the stove top. Quatre took his own initiative and began to arrange place settings and candles for a more romantic dinner.

It was well into the morning hours before Quatre finally had to concede to his enemy-- sleepiness. He still had a long drive back to his hotel, and figured he would have to call a cab to take him so he wouldn't fall asleep behind the wheel.

Trowa vetoed that decision in a heartbeat, "It'll take a cab at least a half hour to get all the way out here, and you're already falling asleep in your plate. I shouldn't have made you stay here for dinner, I didn't think about how far you would have to get back to your hotel. I've got a couch in the loft, I can sleep there and you can have my room."

"No, Trowa, Really. I really enjoyed it, it's so comfortable here." Quatre said around a yawn.

"You're going to bed." Trowa declared and stood from his chair, ignoring all of Quatre's half-hearted protests and pulled him to his feet, walking him the few paces to his room and flicking on the light switch to bathe the room in light.

Trowa corralled Quatre over to the bed, sitting him down on the side unoccupied with the magazines and such, before moving the miscellaneous pile to the dresser. "Sorry, I don't use that side when I sleep and I amass a pile." Trowa apologized with a slight blush.

Quatre, tired as he was, just smiled, "I do the same thing with fabric samples. I'll be looking at them in bed before I go to sleep and wake up with them stuck to my legs." Quatre explained with a chuckle before moving himself over to the now cleaned space, which was closest to the wardrobe he was admiring earlier.

An achingly familiar tune began to play from the television that had been left on in the loft. The strains of 'a wedding story' making Quatre's gut twist in memory--day after day in those king size hotel beds, all alone.

Deciding he could stay awake a little while longer, Quatre stood up from the bed and came up behind Trowa, who had been heading towards the doorway.

Trowa turned to say goodnight, and found Quatre right in front of him. "Do I get a goodnight kiss?" Quatre asked with a breathy whisper.

Trowa took a sharp breath, his heart stopping for a moment as he watched Quatre moving closer and closer. With a quirk of his own lips, Trowa slid his hand onto Quatre's waist and pulled the smaller boy closer until their breath met. "Whatever you want, little one. Whatever you want." Trowa breathed and bent down to brush his lips against Quatre's in a chaste kiss. The two met again, their lips coming together deeper and wanton, and Quatre lifted his arm to the wall and flicked the light switch off.

* * *

Quatre awoke with his feet entangled in the blankets and one of his fabric sample packs against his leg. Exhausted, and not yet awake, Quatre gave the stupid fabric book a good kick to get it out of the way.

It kicked him back.

Quatre was instantly awake, finding himself facing a cherry wood wardrobe. Warmth spread across his entire body at the memory of the night before, and while a little embarrassed, he couldn't say he regretted it. Moving around a bit more, he hit Trowa's leg again, this time the other man grunted and kicked back more gently, as if realizing it was another person in his bed and not an inanimate something.

"Sorry, I'm used to a suite with a whole King Sized bed to myself." Quatre apologized with a yawn.

Trowa was awake now, and took the time to roll over, propping himself up on his elbow beside Quatre, almost on top of the blonde. "That's unfortunate." Trowa said with a grim smile, cutting straight through the pleasantry.

Quatre locked his eyes with Trowa, "How do you see straight through me?" he whispered, brushing his fingers against Trowa's biceps.

Trowa smiled, his lips moving just enough to show it, "Probably the same way I knew no one else would look as beautiful as you wearing that locket. It was my grandmother's actually." Trowa said, dropping a light kiss to Quatre's neck where the silver chain still resided, the locket having fallen to the pillows last night when Trowa rolled over to brace himself on either side of Quatre during their lovemaking.

Quatre wrapped his arms around the carpenter, gently running his fingers along his back. Quatre couldn't remember waking up feeling so excited to face the day in a long time. The warmth of Trowa next to him, the comfortable bed beneath him, and even the adorable way Trowa's hair was sticking up oddly made Quatre ache to stay right where he was until the end of days. "After this reveal, can I come back here? I still owe you a dinner for the locket, don't I?"

Trowa leaned down, a smirk on his face, and captured Quatre's lips in a soft kiss as his answer to that. "How about I pick you up? Duo's been crying for me to come and visit the set."

The bright smile stunned Trowa with its brilliance, "Thank you." Quatre whispered, ghosting his fingers down Trowa's arm until the larger man shivered.

"What time do you have to be on set?" Trowa asked with a groan, and dipped his head down to nip Quatre's pale skin with his lips, but he knew the answer before Quatre whispered it out reluctantly. With a groan of resolution, Trowa rolled off the enticing blonde and onto his side of the bed, taking a few breaths to calm his libido. They had just over an hour to get Quatre showered, dressed, fed, and into that make-up trailer in town 20 minutes away.

Trowa's cat pounced upon his master a few minutes later, meowing his head off, and both men dragged themselves out of the warm bed and got moving.

* * *

Quatre surveyed his room like an eagle, waiting for its prey. And he soon spotted it.

It was almost the end of Day Two, the reveal was only two hours away, and at least three things were not completed. He had already commanded someone to finish the first two. No, it was, AGAIN, Jason in carpentry world, not finished with the window bench Quatre had added to the plan yesterday afternoon in his flash of inspiration. He had calmly let himself be walked on for the past month, just letting Jason finish what he would and designing with as little carpentry as he could. But no more!

Stomping over to the carpentry tent, his modest side-zip boot heels clicking on the tiling as he marched, Quatre placed himself in front of the carpentry bench, hands akimbo and foot tapping on the concrete. Camera's rushed to the scene like moths to a flame. Jason narrowed his eyes from over the wood block he was pushing through the table saw with just about as much energy as a popsicle melting in the fridge, and eyed the pissed off designer with boredom.

"Where's my window bench, Jason? It is five slats nailed together at the end with three legs on each side. It shouldn't have taken you more than a couple hours, and certainly not a day and a half. I would like to get it stained and put in the room, please." Quatre said, his position unmoving.

"What's gotten into you all of a sudden?" Jason dodged, but his sawing took on a more work-conducive pace.

Quatre wasn't buying it; he had been swayed by that tactic too many times before. "I want it done, Jason. And I will stand here and watch you do it, the cameras behind me, if I have to stand here until the reveal."

Jason scowled, puffing his chest out to maximize his size advantage over the petite designer. "It'll be done." He answered vaguely, as he had hundreds of times before, and tried to intimidate Quatre into backing down. The man was huge, Quatre admitted, Jason had a degree as a personal trainer and taught kick boxing. But with the cameras rolling behind him, Quatre had nothing to fear (which he told himself over and over again as he tried to stop shaking in his boots).

"Finish it now, Jason." Quatre demanded, his voice stronger than he felt.

Jason scowled, mindful of the camera's flanking the petite designer. "I'm almost done now, anyway. Watch me if you choose, I just need to nail it all together." He finally relented and, under Quatre's careful eye, Jason assembled the bench.

Finished, but furious at the designer who had stood over him as if he was some petulant child, Jason picked up the heavy wooden bench and threw it right into Quatre's surprised arms.

With an "ooof" of shock, Quatre rocked back on his heels. The slick mud underneath him gave way and sent him to the ground on his ass with a window bench sprawled on top of his chest, knocking the wind completely out of the small man.

"You're nothing but a fucking bastard, you know that Jason?" Was growled from out of Quatre's line of vision, and the heavy bench was lifted off, allowing Quatre to get a big gulp of oxygen to fill his depleted lungs.

A second later, Quatre felt a strong, warm hand wrap around his arm and help him off the ground. Looking as lovely as he had that morning, Trowa stood face to face with Jason. Quatre moved to Trowa's side, one arm finding its way to rest on Trowa's stomach and the other settling on his back in a semi-embrace.

"You aren't supposed to be within 50 feet." Jason growled back, sneering at the two.

"This is Arizona now, Dumbass. Petty charges like that don't apply across the state line, and even if they did, that was only a temporary order." Trowa said back, his control regained and his voice less threatening now that he had Quatre at his side where Jason couldn't touch him.

Evan came ripping through the camera swarm, his usual easy smile replaced with a worried and stresses frown. "Quatre? Jason? The homeowner is early. We have to get ready to shoot-- What the hell happened! You're covered in mud! We don't have time for this." He informed them, completely disregarding the obvious tenseness of the atmosphere and continuing on to find the other cast members, leaving them to sort it out on their own.

Jason turned on his heel and stalked off towards the administrative trailer, leaving Quatre and Trowa. "Thanks." Quatre muttered, trying to rid himself of the worst of the mud covering his wash-treated jeans and white shirt. But it was a lost cause. Thankfully, he had a million spare outfits in the wardrobe trailer. But they only had a few minutes until the reveal and he needed to put the finishes in the--

Trowa had hefted the window bench onto his shoulder and, with a parting wink to Quatre, raced towards the house, whistling a few of the excitedly surprised crew to follow him to finish the grunt work.

Quatre emerged a few minutes later in flats, his heels left for a braver day, and a clean outfit that closely resembled his last (he would hate for the viewing public to have any idea that Jason had pushed him into the mud, the beloved hottie that Jason apparently was) and bounded into the room to finish it.

But it was already done. Everything was in place exactly as he had composed it and there were finishing touches put exactly where he would have placed them. The crew knew their work more than he, or anyone else, gave them credit for apparently.

"Thank god, Quatre. You're on top of things today. Get on your mic and get ready, she's in the driveway." Evan stormed into the room flanked by Jason, the cameras, and the director, who all took up their positions immediately. Quatre didn't even have time to correct Even on who had done the finishing before the sign came and the door opened, the surprised homeowner giving a shout as she saw the changed bedroom.

* * *

Jason led the director out of the house and to the crew tent the minute he could. Quatre was not even able to catch up until the two were opening the flap and marching in. Trowa, standing and having a beer with the rest of the crew, stuck out like a sore thumb. His height and the fact that everyone else was wearing a black Crew T-shirt while Trowa wore a red turtleneck distinguished him immediately. "What is the meaning of this?" The director demanded.

"I invited him." Quatre declared, moving around to block the path of the director and carpenter. "And instead of getting all worked up about Trowa, why don't you ask why within ten minutes of the reveal the carpentry wasn't done and I was covered in mud; the reveal jeopardized because Jason couldn't be professional."

The director eyed the carpenter with question, but Jason just scoffed, "I don't know what he's blabbing on about. He's just trying to save his 'Boyfriend's' ass."

Quatre glared, the sheer hatred of the look catching mostly everyone off guard. Jason puffed up to full intimidation height, but Quatre shook his head as if truly seeing him for the first time.

Proudly standing where he belonged, between an asshole and his friends, Quatre finally said his peace. "You are a malicious, hateful, spiteful, and lazy person. You never get your work finished, you are condescending and you treat the entire crew badly." Quatre took a few steps towards the glaring carpenter, pushed far past his limit of tolerance today. "I refuse to take your shit any longer just because I am trying to keep things calm around here. I have one more show with you, and I swear I can make your life hell if I have too. So Back. Off." Quatre threatened seriously, his voice cold and his posture ready to slug the bastard.

A round of voracious applause went up, cat calls and whooping echoing off the tent as the entire crew allied themselves with Quatre.

Quatre felt a hand gently take hold of his waist, "He's not worth it. Let's get out of here, Quatre." Trowa said. Trowa's thumb began to gently massage his side and Quatre felt his anger dissipate to a dull sizzle. With a nudge, Trowa led Quatre out the tent, tons of 'goodbye' and 'thanks for visiting' flying out behind them all the way to Trowa's SUV until he shut the door and climbed into the driver's side with a mischievous smile.

Trowa turned the vehicle back onto the highway and cruised back towards his shop, "Felt good to finally tell him off, didn't it Quat?"

"Mmhm." Quatre nodded from the passenger seat, his head reclined way back into the head rest and feet stretched out in relaxation. "Thanks for backing me up, though. I couldn't have done anything if I was stuck under that window bench." Quatre replied lazily.

"Sleepy?" Trowa took a flying leap of intuition--Although, the blonde practically snoring next to him may have been a giveaway.

"Mmm? Oh...No." Quatre replied with a yawn. Giving his head a shake, Quatre rolled his window down in hopes that the cool night air would wake him. It worked a bit, but not as much as he would've liked.

Trowa laughed, "I suppose me keeping you up and 'busy' last night tuckered you right out, Poor thing." Trowa teased, and then turned sincere, "I can take you back to your hotel if you want?" He offered.

Quatre shot up in his seat, "No! No I'm fine. I'm off to Houston tomorrow, I want to spend as much time with you as I can, if you don't mind, that is?" Quatre ended, a seductive smile on his lips that reminded Trowa of how truly adult the little blonde was. Quatre was no child; Trowa had learned that for sure last night.

Trowa glanced at the little siren in the seat next to him and gave him a wink, "I've got no problem with that at all. I set some chicken out to thaw this morning too; I can make up some dinner. Oh, and my sister left some movies, if you want to check some out, or just watch some TV." Trowa wasn't expecting Quatre to practically jump into his side and wrap his arms around him, but in the face of adversity, Trowa prevailed and just hugged him back, unsure why something so small had the blonde practically weeping with joy.

"Sorry." Quatre finally said after a minute, his face coming up from Trowa's side, but his arms staying wrapped tightly around his torso, "I'm just happy that you don't find my company boring, I suppose."

Trowa continued driving, a small frown on his face, "Quatre, don't tell me someone as friendly and charming as you has difficulties making friends!" A tiny shrug was his only response from the blonde before he slowly moved back over to the passenger side of the truck and leaned against the window. Trowa put his foot in his mouth after that--he didn't think he hit the nail on the head so hard.

The car continued down the highway in relative silence, both of them afraid of breaking the atmosphere with trivial words. Trowa's cell phone broke it instead, the shrill buzz making them both jump in shock.

"Hey baby brother, Guess what I'm watching RIGHT NOW!" Cathy, the sister that never stopped, blurted out excitedly on the other end of Trowa's cell phone.

"Grass growing? Paint drying?" Trowa's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Hey, the paint one, kinda. I'm watching While You Were Out, and YOU are on TV baby bro! Seriously, it's the one you did a month back, the Chinese guys' house, it's on TV right now...and so are you. I can see you hanging the lights and everything! Just like you said, it's so cool! The editors kept most of it and even--Hey, that Jason guy really is a bastard!" Cathy started cursing at the TV, Trowa having to take the phone away from his abused ear to save what hearing he had left.

Quatre's laugh rang through the car and Cathy's indignant cries went eerily silent. Trowa, worried, put the phone back to his ear, "Cathy?"

"You have someone in the car with you, Trowa, and you didn't tell me." Trowa recognized the 'in trouble' voice immediately, "Is it that blonde I saw yesterday, the one you've been drooling over? Hang up with me and flirt with him you stupid ass! What were you doing even answering the phone on a date! I'm hanging up now, Bye." And the mechanical beeping of a dead line filled his ears.

Trowa shook his head in disbelief before calmly flipping the lid shut and sliding his cell phone back in his pocket, "That girl sure can talk." Trowa muttered.

Turning back to his date, Trowa gave the still smiling blonde a wink, "Well, here we are." Trowa pulled past the rod iron gates separating his driveway from the highway. Jumping out of the cab, Trowa moved to the passenger side and opened the door for Quatre, offering his hand. There was a good few feet difference between the car and the gravel, and as 'vertically challenged' (not short, thank you) as Quatre was, he gratefully took the assistance.

Before long, Trowa was in his kitchen, doing a great job with the chicken and directing Quatre to fix up some potatoes to go along. Quatre wasn't that bad, really, Trowa assured him after the fire alarm went off --again. Quatre didn't buy it and decided to leave the rest in Trowa's capable hands. Two plates were on the table, matching rooster placemats ("So that's what those frilly things were!" Trowa had exclaimed), and the rest of the table settings were in place.

Trowa took the two plates and filled them over the pots, presenting them restaurant style with a flourish. They were well tucked into the meal and conversation before Trowa went eerily quiet.

"What time does your flight leave tomorrow?"

Quatre was reminded suddenly of the situation and dulled as well. "I don't leave until 11 in the morning, but I gotta go to my hotel and check out then get all the way to the airport." Quatre responded with a sigh.

Trowa gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, but that didn't lift his spirits totally, so Trowa stood from his side of the table and came around to Quatre, wrapping his arms around the petit blonde for support.

Quatre's free hand moved to rest on Trowa's hip, bringing him even closer. "Can I stay with you tonight, though?"

Trowa bowed his head to drop a kiss atop the tuft of downy blonde hair and let go of Quatre's hand to wrap him in an embrace. "It would be my honor." Trowa replied with emotion, his voice betraying him.

* * *

The phone screamed shrilly from the bedside table and without waking completely Trowa reached over and grabbed it. Quatre stirred beside him, his blue eyes blinking sleepily and looking at Trowa from his spot atop the larger man's chest.

Putting the phone to his ear with one hand and placing his other arm back around the petit blonde, Trowa answered gruffly, "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was talking loud enough that Quatre could hear it, but too excitedly fast for him to understand. And by the way Trowa's eyes were squinting, it seemed he didn't understand either.

"Are--Are you looking for Quatre?" Trowa asked after a second of quiet. Quatre rubbed the sleep from his eyes and perched himself up, wondering who in earth would be calling him at this hour --the fact that it was Trowa's cell didn't register right away to his sleep fogged mind. But the voice began again a little slower, and Trowa, a little more awake now, began to nod in understanding.

"Well?" Quatre heard the person on the other end demand after more silence.

Trowa shook his head as if to clear it, and then put the receiver back to his ear, "I'll think about it and call you back later today, okay? Bye." And without anything else he put the phone back on its cradle and stared at it in disbelief.

Quatre lay back down, curling himself back around the warm body next to him, "Who was it?" Quatre asked lightly, his voice a little scratchy from morning, but his mind beginning to work fully.

"Jason has been fired."

Quatre sat bolt upright, "What?"

Trowa looked at Quatre as if disbelieving the news himself, "I guess the fiasco yesterday was enough for the director. And the Chang room episode was aired last night. People have been sending E-mails and making calls all night, I guess. The director wants to know if I can go to Houston today for the next build. People liked me. I guess."

"Do you want to go, Trowa?" Quatre asked seriously while moving his fingers through Trowa's scraggly hair.

"I've never been the cast before...I liked working with the crew, they're a good bunch and I liked traveling, but, I've got my shop now... I guess I could call Cathy to watch it while I go to Houston, but...I don't know about next season." Trowa looked a little lost all of a sudden.

"Well," Quatre said with determination, "You're going to need to pack soon if you're going to Houston. It'll be good to see what being cast is like, and you'll make more money by being there than you would staying here. You don't need to decide about next season right now. But you do have to decide whether you go to Houston."

Trowa's hands made their way to Quatre's bare hips and held them tight, "I--I'm a little nervous actually..." Trowa confessed, his voice laughing at himself as he said it.

Putting forehead to forehead, Quatre smiled at the Cyclops-looking thing, "I'll be with you the whole way. You're in MY territory now, baby. What are you going to do?" Quatre teased, bringing his fingers to dance across his lover's ticklish sides.

Trowa gave in and flipped Quatre back down flat on the bed, wrestling the blonde's fingers off his sides to pin them atop his head as he straddled the blonde playfully. "How about now? Hm? What are YOU going to do?"

Wiggling beneath his captor, Quatre smiled and placed a kiss on Trowa's lips. "I'm going to act super cute until you let me go?"

With a laugh, Trowa let him go and sat up, taking the phone in one hand and dialing his sister's number. He could deal with one more show, and at least he would get to be with Quatre for a few more days. The rest of his day was a whirlwind, and he was on the plane, nervous as hell and beseeched by wardrobe teams, the director, and his cast mates. Thankfully, Quatre was right there beside him, giving his hand a squeeze when Trowa was ready to jump out of the emergency exit.

They made a great team, the design moving along like a well oiled machine. The crew was ecstatic to have Trowa back, the camera's loved him, and his work was stunning. But the best, the sweetest part of this deal, was when the day was over and both he and Quatre were exhaustedly pouring themselves into a hotel bed, neither was alone.

And that's what happens, While You Were Out!

**

* * *

Author's note:  
This is the last part of the one shot. (Why in 2 parts? Because it read too long as one) I hope you all enjoyed it! I won't be able to respond to Reviews, since there won't ban any more chapters, But REVIEW ANYWAY because without some criticism I won't be able to improve for my next story!**

**Reviewer responses:**

Thank you so MUCH to everyone! I can't reply to everyone, so just a few, and here we go:

Silver Cateyes--wow, you're sick sense of humor continues (and I love it!). Thanks so much for noticing the little details!

Jo-9tails--thanks for being such a fan! I'm flattered! OH! And I finally got a copy of Midnight Pearls as well as Scarlet moon, and I have to say, I SO loved Blacksmith Ken and Werewolf Ran better than the characters in the damn book!

yaeko--Of COURSE Andrew is the best! I watch WYWO just to see what T-shirt he has on for that episode.

Neji's IceKitten-- haha! So I'm NOT THE ONLY ONE who goes and checks out writer's favorites list to find some good stuff. But I warn you, I use my favorites list as a 'when I get to it, this fic looks interesting list', sometimes I haven't even read the stories on there yet! So be careful, cause I sometimes don't know what I'm recommending!

gymnastics-lover-- thank you so much for you're praise! I am humbled.

Amy Hirosaki--thank you! And I don't only write good fics! (I just don't post the crappy ones!) Thank you so much fo r you're feedback, and I hope this chapter is easier to understand (the design language is less prominent in this chapter)

Solo's Ghost-- Thanks! blushes and uh...sequel to wilderness? I don't know about that...

Mistress of Muses-- Thanks for the praise, and I never really thought about this as a crossover with the actual show--since I use very little from the show itself--but I guess it really is one. And if you think I was able to do it gracefully, then I couldn't have done any better!

Kinaua-- Wow, thanks. My best friend does that, with the Binder and print outs. I just save to my laptop! I've read fablespinner's stuff at least a hundred times over! It'd be dog-eared if I had prints!

Thalia16--THANKS for your continued support! And I could never have my dear Andrew as a villain! NEVER! And thanks for the stylistic advice, I took it into consideration for this part.

THANK YOU EVERYONE!


	3. Epilouge

**Picking out Curtains**  
_Dentellenoir_  
3x4, AU. PG for suggestive situations  
Warnings: Fluff, designer!Quatre.  
Disclaimer: --insert standard disclaimer here--  
Summary: Quatre is obsessed with fixing up Trowa's apartment.

* * *

Epilogue: **Picking out Curtains**

"Purple and gold pillows are the colour of love, Trowa."

"But, the bedroom sheets are grey."

"...Not for long" Quatre muttered under his breath, moving towards another bolt of fabric and running his fingers along the hand-stitched beading. He was thinking...Bedouin bedroom. Definitely.

One look at Trowa stopped that line of thinking flat. He was starring at the little sparkling bits hanging from the edges of the fabric unable to even mask his absolute disgust. Quatre had to change design gears quickly, but he was a professional designer, the best on the show, and he could swing with a fussy client easily (although Trowa was special). And it was Trowa's place, his apartment on top of the Antique shop, that Quatre found himself designing.

Quatre wanted to move their relationship past the plateau they had reached. They were a close couple, and Quatre more or less lived at Trowa's, even though he needed to keep his New York apartment for his almost monthly jaunts he had to make there. But he had already brought his cats to stay with Trowa (poor Snowball hadn't taken to having competition for attention OR all that woodworking machinery of Trowa's constantly howling) and he wanted to move on with their relationship. And there was only one way Quatre knew how to show his love—Design!

So when Trowa finally relented to letting Quatre, the professional designer (he had to constantly remind his change-resistant lover), fix up his disgustingly drab kitchen after Quatre had accidentally set the drapes on fire—destroying the rooster-pattern's strangle hold on the kitchen. He had quickly set about destroying all that remained of Cathy's "housewarming gifts" by bundling up the matching placemats, oven mitts, and salt'n'pepper shakers to give to Goodwill as soon as he cleaned up the charred remains of the drapes. Trowa had asked him point blank if he had almost set fire to his entire house, endangering both their lives and his entire shop just to be rid of the roosters. Quatre was thankful that he honestly hadn't meant too, or Trowa would've been Very Pissed--capital letters included.

So, he had brought Trowa along with him to all sorts of stores ranging from Oriental silk markets to import shops to department stores looking for replacements. He had flipped through numerous catalogues, sent back hordes of parcels, and tried hundreds of different designs, but Quatre was never happy with anything he found. So Quatre decided to make the drapes himself.

That had been 4 days ago. Since then, Trowa had been hijacked to every fabric store within three counties surrounding his shop. Still, Quatre hadn't made up his mind about ANYTHING. Trowa knew better than to try to persuade Quatre to get something he didn't truly want, but after 4 days each bolt of 'maybe' fabric piled into his arms were crushing his last nerve.

The worst was that once Quatre started looking he had found tons of things; he found a new spread for the bedroom, moved all the living room furniture to make way for a converting table/ottoman, got colour-coded organizing baskets for Trowa's shop (which were very handy, he would agree), and he bought a whole new set of dishes, but he STILL hadn't found new drapes. Trowa really didn't like every patron of his shop getting a show into his bathroom through his wide open kitchen window, yet Quatre STILL hadn't made up his finicky mind!

"And LOOK at this texture, the depth of this fabric! Don't you just want to dive into it?!"

"Quatre...I thought you were looking for drapes." Trowa voiced a barely civil compliant, "This fabric is 100 wool."

Quatre had missed the signs of a cranky and fed up Trowa, though, as he was already wading through the sale fabric ends scouting for deals for his next project.

"Quatre!" Trowa cried barely containing a growl of frustration at being ignored in favor of decoration. He KNEW it was Quatre's life, and his job, but this whole thing was getting out of hand!

"What? Dry-clean only doesn't mean it's got leprosy!" Quatre called back, fingering another bolt of electric blue taffeta for living room curtain lining.

That was it! Trowa would not take being ignored a moment longer. He turned on his heel and moved towards the cutting counter, dropping the 15 bolts of fabric he held onto the desk with a resounding thud. The woman looked up startled, her little glasses falling from her hand, but thankfully saved from a gruesome demise by the tacky little string attached around her neck. Trowa simply pointed to Quatre, and left.

Back at Trowa's apartment, Quatre was busy "not talking" to Trowa as he pulled the aged-cream wool fabric through the machine for a decorative throw to lighten up the living room. Quatre was willing to admit that it was mostly his fault (Trowa had been gone for almost half an hour before an elderly sales woman pointed him to his missing fabrics and asked about his 'handsome friend" that Quatre had realized he was alone in the store). But it was Trowa's fault too. He knew how single minded Quatre got when he was designing. He had only been in the fabric store MAYBE an hour before Trowa ran, which was nothing compared to the 6 hour shop-a-thons Quatre regularly roped him into doing with him.

Trowa didn't usually complain. Trowa was just as bad with his own projects. When they were on the road they had to stop at every god damned antique, going out of business, or garage sale within a 100 mile radius of whatever road they were on, and Quatre didn't complain then! It was just part of who each of them were.

If Trowa couldn't understand that, then...What did they have? What was he even trying to do?

Quatre took a moment to wipe moisture from his eyes as he had to snip the bobbin-thread again, re-threading the old singer Treadle once more, he took stitch-cutters to the snagged fabric.

He could just barely hear Trowa moving around in his workshop over the scream of the power sander he was using. Quatre started the machine up again, sliding the material through absently. What the hell was going on between them? Trowa and he had hit it off within moments of their first meeting, and now Quatre just didn't understand what was going wrong.

Damn it, everything was going wrong! Quatre had to use the scissors to clear lengths of thread from his fabric, something working horribly wrong to create such a mess of tangled string.

Before he knew what was wrong with himself he was crying rivers as he tore out malformed stitches, wiping his eyes more than not.

The sound of the power sander stopped. But Quatre couldn't stop his turmoil from pouring out.

Trowa appeared in Quatre's field of vision, the much taller man crouching low to look up at his blonde between the table and the machine, looking at Quatre's upset with disbelief.

"What the hell is wrong?" He asked, looking at his lover through yards of material and a mess of cut threads.

Quatre stifled a whimper at the harshness in Trowa's usually kind voice. It made Quatre want to sob out loud, but his pride bit down hard on his tongue. "The machine won't work. The bobbin string keeps catching." He replied as steadily as he could, lifting the almost ruined fabric up for Trowa to see the damage. There were loose threads hanging out in all directions, the seams crisscrossed and uneven, and the half-finished length hung limp and pathetic from Quatre's unsteady hands.

Just seeing how bad his ideal had turned only refreshed his despair, and fresh tears began to flow down his face, unstoppable.

"I can fix it." Trowa said finally, handing Quatre a discarded length of fabric to dry his eyes. Trowa avoided looking straight at him, and examined the treadle, jimmying the bobbin out of its casing and delving into the inner workings of the machine. He spotted the problem immediately.

"The bobbin casing is broken; it's getting snagged while turning. I'll need to replace it. I think I got something for it. But it's going to take me a bit." Trowa said quietly, unable to stay mad when his lover was so upset.

He quietly excused himself to his workshop, finding the part on another treadle which was almost beyond repair (not that Trowa couldn't do it, just that it was worth more as spare parts than as a working machine). When he came back into Quatre's area of the living room-cum-workshop, he saw that Quatre had discarded the horribly snagged fabric to begin hand-stitching some lengths of antique-blue fabric.

It was really quite nice, and with a start, Trowa realized he couldn't remember when Quatre bought it, or any other things for that matter. He had just been so sick of doing it all that he must have blanked out completely.

Trowa crouched down to get into the machine and took a screwdriver and elbow grease to it, trying to remove the broken pieces from their rightful places.

"What the hell is so damn important about some stupid curtains, anyway? You're all upset." Trowa remarked, burying himself in his task so he didn't need to look at Quatre if he responded badly.

Quatre didn't say anything for a long time, long enough that Trowa was in the process of securing the new casing in place of the broken pieces and Quatre had almost moved onto the third seam of whatever he was making.

"Because they aren't just some stupid curtains," Quatre said quietly, his voice melancholic. "I thought they could be, you know, _our_...stupid...curtains." He drifted off softly.

Trowa looked up from the nearly repaired machine in surprise, his eyes locking with Quatre's. Like a flash he remembered clearly just how important one light fixture or the exact height of a boarder was to Quatre. He lived though his designs, expressed himself and his feelings for others. Trowa had just let Quatre do as he wanted with the place as long as it wasn't too off the wall, but he had hardly put in any input.

That was why Quatre was still looking for a curtain.

Because Trowa hadn't picked one out yet.

Feeling his chest tighten, Trowa moved away from the machine and took Quatre into his arms, dropping kisses into his hair in apology. "I guess I haven't been too helpful, then, have I." He said gently.

Trowa touched the soft cotton of the antique-blue fabric in Quatre's hands, the imperfect lines of Quatre's stitches standing out against the fabric, "You know what, Quat." Trowa said, drying his lover's eyes with chaste kisses, "That thing you have there is the most perfect things I've seen yet. Can we put something in it up in the kitchen? With your stitching?" He asked sincerely, running his hands along the thread Quatre had painstakingly woven.

Quatre broke out into a little smile. He lifted the half-sewn project up above his head so Trowa could see it entirely. Trowa smiled despite himself, the obvious contours of curtains making him chuckle. "Psychic or what?" Trowa had to ask, looking at Quatre in disbelief.

Quatre shrugged morosely, sliding his needle in and out again and again until he tied off the edge. "I picked this fabric out the first day knowing you'd like it. But you didn't even notice. I figured if worse came to worse, I wouldn't leave you without some decent curtains up."

Trowa moved in quickly, stealing the needle and fabric out of Quatre's hands, and sliding one arm under his knees and another behind his back. With one swift motion Trowa had his blonde angel away from the disaster area and into the bedroom, dropping him onto their bed with ease.

"You thought you could be rid of me that easily!" Trowa taunted, landing tickling kisses everywhere he knew sent Quatre into mad hysterics. His tickling soon turned into soft caresses as he reminded his lover how much he loved him, despite the hell of picking out curtains.

As they both cooled down, Quatre dozing on top of Trowa's work-toned arms. Trowa propped himself up on his elbow and gave his lover a playful look, "Just for all the hell you put me though these last few days, this weekend, I'm going to drag you to just as many garage sales and antique markets as you can stand, and then, I'm going to bring you to Home Depot to find lumber!" He threatened, Quatre groaning despite himself,

"No! Anything but LUMBER!" Quatre wailed, "There's only so much wood-products I can stand before all that saw dust ruins my shoes!"

"Nope. Too bad for you, and nothing you can say will change my mind," Trowa said grinning.

Quatre quickly took to the game, smirking evilly he rolled himself to sit straddled across Trowa's waist comfortably, "Oh really?" Quatre suggested, a glint in his eye.

By the time he was finished, Trowa had not only taken back his threat, but promised to move the furniture in the bedroom for that queen-anne night table Quatre had been eying for weeks.

Score one more for the designer.


End file.
